


Bedside Master

by guava



Category: Kamen Rider Ex-Aid
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guava/pseuds/guava
Summary: After losing 20 lives, you still had Hanaya Taiga.Set after Episode 38.





	Bedside Master

Not in 20 lives will he die for you, yet you have died for him 20 times.

There could be one life out there in which you love and were loved by him. In that one life, watching him sleep like this--in hospital clothes, with IV tubing stuck up his arm and an oxygen mask covering his face--would be sheer torture. That life would be absent of game disease, only the illnesses which doctors couldn't cure, you supposed.

Nothing escaped your notice. He took seconds fluttering his eyes open, turning minutely on his pillow and being aware that you were there alone with him. He was so weak that he couldn't even panic and mistake you for a patient's ghost, the poor thing.

When your eyes met, both of you gave up the pretense of ignoring each other. As he took his oxygen mask off, you leaned close to hear what he had to say.

"Go die," he croaked.

You had to laugh. Perhaps to keep you from looming over him, he struggled to sit up. You saved him the trouble by getting into the bed with him, pulling the blanket covering him aside to lie beside him.

You were close enough to study the lines of exhaustion which marked his face. These tended to fade whenever he was asleep and whenever you said any part of him was 'cute', and probably when he was dead.

'Death' again; thoughts of mortality had no business polluting your divine mind. You had to do to him what no one would do to a dying man, and so you touched his ass.

"The painkillers don't seem to be working," you said. "God's blessing is what you need to get a good night's sleep."

"Seriously," he replied, and unzipped your pants.

Unlike in the past, he would rather start first than resist first. That was why you kept him alive.

That was why you believed you had a future with him.

So you couldn't do it to him, he tugged down his hospital pyjamas bottoms and exposed himself. With his usual grumblings on how ridiculously tight your pants were ("these are digitized anyway, make them go away"), he forced them down your thighs and soon had his fingers all over your cock.

It was impossible to not harden under his strokes, though what he was doing was more like petting than stroking. You liked him petting your cock.

Looking down, you could see that he remained limp, that all his energy had went to getting you hard and dripping and there was none left for himself. He needed more from you. Just as you were about to slide down and blow him, he gave your cock a squeeze and hooked his leg behind your ankle. You stayed where you were, with your legs entwined with his.

In that position, you could only hug him closer, pressing your cock against his. You caressed his nape and back, then over his butt and down his crack. Hiding his face into your shoulder, he groaned and began grinding against your hip.

You smelled the sweat in his hair and told him, "Come for me and go to sleep."

"Mmph," he said.

Finally, you felt the wetness of his pre-come on your skin. You were breathing hard one moment, ready to come in his hand, when he loosened his grip and lifted his head to face you.

His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were shining. He seemed to have something to say.

"Don't you hate this hospital?" He said. "After what happened with your mother."

You had forgotten that he knew about that. You didn't expect him to remember being shown your mother's patient records at this hospital.

What he was trying to ask was perhaps, 'If you hate this hospital, why are you here with me?'

You knew why you were there with him; you wanted to get your 20 lives worth.

He continued to touch you again, drawing his fingertips over the slit on the head of your cock. He paused every time you tried to fuck his hand and waited for your answer.

"I hate this hospital. I hate doctors too," you gasped.

You even hated the doctors who saved him, for they proved that your powers weren't godlike after all. You would kill him again just to bring him back and prove to yourself that you had greater powers than doctors and surgery. But then what would your 20 deaths mean?

He drew his hand down your shaft, gathering the considerable wetness on his palm before softly squeezing around your balls. As he inserted two fingers into your hole, you bucked against him in desperation.

You wrapped your hand around your cock and his, and heard him catch his breath. His fingers stretching your hole and his pre-come wetting your dick made you lose your mind for a moment.

You said without thinking,"If I had made you Level 100 Gashat, I wouldn't have wasted 20 lives."

"What?"

You weren't about to explain what you said. You were so close to him that all you needed to do was to tilt your head down to kiss him, and you did.

His mouth was warm. You pressed his tongue to his tongue and lay your cock against his cock. He had begun fingerfucking your ass in earnest, bringing his fingers in and out and rubbing against where you couldn't reach with your own hand.

When you moved away from his lips to let him breathe, he said, "What's that about your 20 lives?"

"I've lost 20 lives to keep my father from murdering you in surgery."

That wasn't the whole truth and may keep him up the whole night. But he knew you better than to tell the whole truth.

"How does it feel to be killed by your father 20 times?" He asked.

"Like being killed by a father 20 times."

His breathing was becoming more laboured and the faint blush on his cheeks were receding. He needed to rest; he would suffer if you continued to stay with him any longer. With a few deft strokes on his cock, you let him come. Not a lot came out from him, not as much as if he had let you suck him off.

Upon his climax, he thrust his fingers as deep as he could into you and you came too. Your Bugster body actually allowed you to control your orgasms and come whenever you wanted, but you weren't about to tell him that.

More grumbling from him as you tried to clean him up with your tongue. He said he'd get hard again and jack off without you. You weren't going to let that happen, but you gave in anyway and cleaned up the come on his skin with tissues instead.

He lay still as you tucked him in, pulling the blanket to his chin so he wouldn't be cold.

"I'll be the next to kill you," he promised.

"Looking forward," you said. "Good night."

He couldn't stop you from kissing his forehead.

He was going to kill you for that too. 


End file.
